


The Captain

by chippawabrike



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, GOT7, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6714001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chippawabrike/pseuds/chippawabrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Excuse me, but do you have a pen I could borrow?”</p>
<p>Mark startles at the sound of the voice, glancing up through his gold-rimmed reading glasses at the face of the man he had been watching by the doors. His face is obscured in part by a frayed cap, and Mark can only make out the strong curve of his jaw and the roughness of his lips without having to lean forward invasively.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 00.1

He’s awfully well-proportioned, Mark finds himself thinking as he gazes over his desk at the broad silhouette of a man in the late afternoon sunlight, definitely not the type of man you would expect to make a trip to the national museum at this time of day. He’s standing very still, but the clerk can sense an underlying note of urgency in the small tics he is able to observe in the man from where he sits. The stranger’s posture is so rigid, too, a habit that is most certainly learned and not inherited. 

New Message: Jackson  
heyyy ;)) you excited for Friday? 

Mark flips his phone face down and neatly tucks it behind the monitor of his computer. Why did he agree to that date again? Regardless, Mark is busy. He’s been trying to sketch out a bird’s eye view of the dig site he started working on last November, but he’s constantly being interrupted. Whether it be by children knocking into delicate glass cases while running unhampered through the museum’s halls or by men in suits dropping their briefcases in a seemingly uncharacteristic show of clumsiness. It was almost closing time, anyway, and Mark would be able to bike back home and curl up on his lovely little futon. The museum was running some government-funded gala tonight and somehow, by the grace of the gods, Mark had been able to weasel his way out of working. The curator was quite fond of him. 

When Mark next glances up, a half hour later, the stranger with the nice physique is still standing in place. The sun is beginning to set, and the young museum clerk frowns. Why was the guy still here? Had he been stood up on a date? He was far too underdressed to be attending the gala. Come to mention it, his sense of fashion was jarring when juxtaposed with the scene of the city’s skyline in the background. Slim-fitting blue jeans, a plaid shirt and a rather worn-looking brown leather jacket. 

“Huh.” Mark clicked his tongue, shifting his focus to packing up his belongings. 

“Excuse me, but do you have a pen I could borrow?” 

Mark startles at the sound of the voice, glancing up through his gold-rimmed reading glasses at the face of the man he had been watching by the doors. His face is obscured in part by a frayed cap, and Mark can only make out the strong curve of his jaw and the roughness of his lips without having to lean forward invasively. 

“Will this do?” Mark offers, handing over the pen he had tucked behind his ear. 

The stranger looks the implement over and shakes his head curtly, and Mark isn’t sure if he imagines the taller male glancing furtively over his shoulder at the clock. 

“I’ve actually filled out most of my info in black pen, so…” 

“Oh.”

Mark fumbles with the black pen he has tucked into his pocket and hears the stranger laugh softly. The men in suits had dropped this pen earlier along with their briefcase, but they hadn’t come back for it, so Mark supposed it wouldn’t matter if he passed it on. 

“This?” 

“Fantastic.” He rumbles, accepting the pen and pulling his cap down further over his eyes. “Get home safe, kid.” 

Mark’s brow furrows but the stranger isn’t looking. He’s ducked away quietly; footsteps hardly making a sound as he weaves deeper into the museum. For some reason, the archaeology student doesn’t feel obliged to chase after him or to tell him that the museum will be shutting in precisely seven minutes forty seconds. Mark shoulders his bag and tucks his glasses into his coat pocket, fishing for the keys to unlock his bike from the rack. 

He seems like he knows what he’s doing, anyway. 

 

 

Jackson and Mark were a right pair. They had been friends since school and they shared almost everything. Every Thursday night when Jackson had leave from the military academy at which he trained and worked, they went out for cheap drinks and even cheaper food and complained about life. The last time they had done so, Mark had accidentally let slip the fact that he was feeling awfully unsatisfied in his love life. He wasn’t the type for one-night stands or even distanced affairs, and so if he wanted satisfaction, he was going to have to get it from the right man. 

Jackson knew this, so why on earth had he set his best friend up with the buffoon that Mark sat in front of right now? 

Buffoon might be a little harsh, Mark reminded himself with an internal cringe. Hoseok was the type of guy Mark was drawn to when he made friends; loud, gregarious and comfortable in his own skin. There was no way in hell the student would ever settle with someone like him though, he already had one Jackson in his life. Besides, Hoseok chewed and spoke and guffawed at the same time and there was absolutely no mystery or romance in that. 

Mark’s last boyfriend had been just his type; tall, dark and handsome, with a mysterious and alluring air to him. As it turned out, that air of mystery arose from the fact that Leo had been fucking another boy on the side, and was hiding it under a glamour of chivalry and nonchalance. Mark had decided then and there that he needed to set his sights on a more grounded, responsible man rather than just being drawn in by all the bells and whistles. 

Mark’s thoughts drifted to the man he had seen outside the museum the other afternoon, and he found himself wondering what his face looked like. He had had his cap pulled down so low over his face… What did he have to hide? An enigmatic scar? Eye patch? Receding hairline? He’d just had such a nice body…

“…And then Jackson tells me he’s in love and I’m thinking, ‘here we go again’, like, you just can’t take a breath around this guy he’s always off doing something reckless… Mark?” Mark’s glassy gaze slowly refocuses on Hoseok and he flushes. His date chuckles. “Are you drunk?” 

The perfect out. 

“Yes, maybe a little.” Mark lied- he wasn’t even tipsy yet. “I’m a bit of a lightweight. I’m so sorry I haven’t been concentrating but I’ve just got this massive headache…”

Hoseok smiles brightly and Mark feels warm inside and guilty. 

“It’s okay, I’ll take you home.” The other man responds. Mark thinks he probably knows. 

 

 

 

It’s quiet and it’s lonely after Hoseok leaves. Mark’s apartment is quite sizeable and quite cheap because it’s far from university and far from anywhere that most young people would like to be. It’s close to the museum by train, however, and a historic railway bridge that arks over a kebab shop… but that’s about it. 

Mark sighs softly, sitting at his kitchen table and watching as rain starts to beat against the window. It’s not that late, but there aren’t many people out and about at this time of night in this type of neighbourhood. 

“I need some dumplings.” He thinks out loud, rising from his chair and ducking back over to the door to collect his coat and wallet. 

There’s a brightly lit corner store just down from Mark’s place, and he wastes no time ducking inside and out of the rain. He doesn’t mind the wet, but at this time of year, rain so late in the night was always bitingly cold. He selects a bag of frozen kimchi pork dumplings and turns around with a sniffle to search for a can of deodorant. It’s as he’s browsing the small cosmetics shelf that he feels the cold swish of air fanning out from the opening front doors, glancing over the shelving to see the stranger from the museum hustling inside with hunched shoulders. 

His eyes widen slightly and his throat constricts. 

The stranger notices him and pulls his cap down over his eyes again. Why is he so afraid of being seen? Mark notices that he’s wearing the exact same clothes as he was when he was at the museum the other day, and rain is spotting his plaid shirt. 

Here, in this corner store, the man’s presence fills the space. Mark feels intimidated, like he is getting in the way of something even though he is on the opposite side of the room. He tucks himself close to the shelves he is standing in front of, just in case the stranger has to rush past him for some reason. 

He’s scanning the hardware section, and Mark thinks there’s something odd about the way he’s all hunched into himself when he had been so rigid and well-postured the last time they bumped into each other. Still, he seems distracted for a while, so Mark takes the chance to rush to the counter and pay for his goods. The server raises her brow at him and he gives a nervous little smile. It dawns on him in that moment that he is wearing his pyjamas and he shyly looks over his shoulder to see if the other man has noticed, only to gasp at the realisation that said man is suddenly standing right behind him. How did he move so quietly? 

“Eight dollars seventy.” The girl says. 

Mark spins back to face the cashier with flushed cheeks, frazzled as he digs through his wallet for the correct change. 

“Sorry… Um, sorry, just can’t find the right-“ 

As it turned out, fumbling around so much caused the coins to spill out, bouncing down onto the floor. Mark bit his lip, dropping into a crouch to start collecting the money. The stranger knelt down also, quickly picking up the coins without so much as a word.

“Thank you. And I’m really sorry, you’re probably in a rush and-“

A chuckle. “It’s no problem.”

It’s only three words, but the tone of the stranger’s voice gets to Mark and he looks up from beneath his fringe. There’s a thick, crimson trail of blood slowly sliding down the man’s cheek, from his hairline to his jaw in one smooth movement and, as he stands up, his shirt rises just a little. Mark thinks he can see the butt of a gun. 

Illegal. Everyone knew that the civilian possession of a gun should be reported immediately to the authorities, and Mark knew that the server behind the counter would not hesitate to do so if she caught sight of the weapon. And the blood… 

“Thanks so much!” He exclaimed suddenly as he dropped the last of the coins back into his wallet. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, man!”

Mark leans forward and pulls the taller man into an embrace, nuzzling his hair against the other’s cheek where the blood had begun to trickle. When he pulls back, the stranger appears unaffected, maybe a little confused, until he glances at the streaks of red in Mark’s hair and realises what the boy had been doing. 

“Yeah kid, keep in touch, hm?” 

Mark gives an awkward laugh; quickly grabbing the plastic handles of the bag that the impatient teen was holding out to him, and scurries away before she can notice the incriminating blood. He doesn’t know why, but he waits anxiously outside the doors. He’s so curious, having never felt so drawn to anyone in his life. He wants to know so much more than he does and so he waits. Mark’s more than aware that he looks like an idiot, standing under the tiny shop awning, the glow of the neon lights highlighting his worn sweatpants and baggy pyjama shirt. In all honesty, he feels like a pathetic Lois Lane in a dodgy remake of Superman; a shadow lingering behind the main character. He becomes so distracted by his own pathetic analogy that he doesn’t notice the man with the gun and the wound leaving the shop with a single glance back over his shoulder, tracking down the street. 

When he does look up, Mark is alone, and the girl behind the counter is blowing gum bubbles as she watches a subbed copy of Descendants of the Sun on the store’s tv feed. Mark’s heart lurches painfully. 

 

 

 

“You got out of the last one. Why on earth did you think you could get out of two in a row?” 

Mark just hunches lower in his seat, staring at the endless rain outside the window- again. 

“I really don’t understand what the big deal is anyway. You get to dress up nicely, drink a few free drinks, eat some free food, and talk about all the dead things that you seem to love looking at so much.” Jinyoung’s gaze is withering as he stares at Mark and, not for the first time, the older man feels very much like a younger employee being scolded. 

“It’s alright for those of us who happen to love flouncing about and being little social butterflies.” He snipes back with a sullen look on his face. “And the director isn’t into you so at least you don’t have to smell his drunk breath all up in your face for hours on end.” 

Jinyoung grimaces at this. The director- or primary investor- of the museum in which they both worked, was nothing more than a rich collector who loved all things pretty and rare. Mark was pretty and unusual, and drew the gaze of quite a few men and women in their circle, the director being the foulest of the lot. He was prone to groping, drunken sweet talk and occasionally threats of unemployment. Jinyoung was worried that one day the threats would take a turn from joking to serious and that Mark wouldn’t know what to do with himself. 

“I’ll be there. Just stick with me. Besides, this event seems promising. There’s a lot of security on the roster so I’m assuming there are some VIPs attending.” Jinyoung fills their plastic ramen cups with hot water and rushes to the table in the centre of the office before the contents can scald his hands. He sits down with a gentle sigh. “Do you have a suit?”

“No,” Mark mutters, peering up at his friend through his soft, silver bangs. “I rented the last one I wore, anyways.”

“Just borrow one of mine. I’ll come over to yours to get ready.” 

“You’re too short.”

“That look is in right now. Expose those sexy ankles,” Jinyoung snickers at his own joke, shovelling some noodles into his mouth. “You don’t have a choice anyway. There’s nowhere else that you’ll be able to get a suit at such short notice, and the curator will be angry if you show up too casually. We need to blend in with the high-brow community, Mark.” 

“Fine, fine. Thanks.” The elder of the two acquiesces, and they lapse into a comfortable silence as they eat their lunch. 

Mark’s not even paying all that much attention to what’s being said, however, caught up in his own head as he tries desperately to remember the facial features of the stranger who seems to consume his thoughts. He’s a little bruised by the fact that the imposing man had rushed off so quickly after Mark had helped save his ass from potential persecution. He had to wash blood from his hair that night and he did it all for a stranger’s sake. He’s perhaps even more bruised knowing that he can’t get the stranger off his mind, even though he knows next to nothing about him; barely knows the features of the guy’s face, for fuck’s sake. 

“Is something bothering you Mark?” Jinyoung takes off his glasses, wiping them on his sweater. They’re fogging up from the steam rising off the ramen. “Did something happen on the date with Hoseok that you’re not telling me about?” 

“You worry too much.” Mark laughs softly, giving his friend a soft smile. “I’m just not looking forward to tonight, is all.” 

 

 

 

“No! Mark- Mark, come back here a second!” Jinyoung calls, frazzled and red in the cheeks. “You have to take the raffle cards! I will take B circle’s placards and then we meet up to sweep the back corridor. Got it?”

“Got it.” Mark replies, a little flustered himself as he adjusts his favourite pair of glasses- gold with round frames- and hurries to do as he was told. 

From the very beginning, the evening was turning out to be just as the archaeology student had imagined it would. He narrowly avoided the director upon entering the museum through the employee’s entrance, but several of the other workers had informed Mark that the man was looking for him. Setting the raffle cards in their correct space meant entering the main ballroom area and risking being seen. Mark would have much preferred to lurk behind the scenes and avoid the whole disaster zone all together, but he had a soft spot for Jinyoung and wanted to help him out, especially since he was shouldering most of the night’s burden. 

With a deep breath, Mark slipped into the ballroom and began creeping along the edge of the room close to the wall. Champagne was flowing and attractive servers darted between groups of well-dressed VIPs to serve canapés and refreshments. Classical music was being played by a string quartet on a marble pedestal and… and Mark hated it all. He felt exposed; like a nerve. He wondered if people could tell that he was wearing a suit two sizes too small for him, or if they could tell that his glasses were a cheap knock-off brand. They probably could. 

“Oop- sorry!” Mark exclaimed with a little bow as he lost track of where he was going and bumped into someone who was passing him by. His glasses clattered to the floor but before he could reach down to get them, they were being pressed back into his hands. Embarrassed, Mark kept his gaze down, bowing again and edging his way around the faceless figure. “Thank you, sorry.” 

A sigh of relief was all the boy could manage once he successfully escaped the awkward situation, finally reaching the table Jinyoung had asked him to set the extra raffle cards on. He paused behind it for a moment to wipe off the lenses of his glasses, set them firmly upon the bridge of his nose and fix his too-long hair. 

“There’s my little Chinese flower!” 

“A-Ah! Director Kang!” Mark responded quickly, spinning on his heel before the older man could grope his ass in front of all these important people. He bowed out of necessity and hid his grimace when the director’s blown pupils met his own. 

“My favourite little student!” He leans forward, thick hand landing on the table by Mark’s hips. Mark glances around furtively, but no one is watching them yet. “You smell so good.” 

Mark takes a step back, filled with a sense of dread. He feels like a child who has no choice but to behave even when faced with a situation as unpleasant and prickly as the one he is currently in. If he didn’t love his job so much, he would have quit long ago if only to avoid Kang’s lurid gaze. But there are people at the museum whom he is very attached to; not to mention the fact that he can’t stand the thought of embarrassing himself in front of all the guests by causing a scene. 

“Your legs look amazing,” The older man purrs and Mark recoils, but not fast enough to avoid the hand that grips his upper thigh, squeezing. “Do you work ou-“

“Director, this is highly improper.” Mark tries to bring the man to his senses, turning toward the table and reshuffling the cards just so he has something else to focus on that will settle his nerves. 

“Kang Doyeon?” 

The direction looks away from Mark to greet the person calling his name, but his hand stays put and Mark’s cheeks burn. He doesn’t want to look up. He can’t. He’s so humiliated. 

“Why don’t you get your hand off the boy, hm?” Mark can hear material shifting and he tilts his head to the side just slightly. The voice… “The investors from MUN Corps have been looking for you for the better part of an hour.” 

“MUN Corps?” And just like that, the hand falls away from Mark’s body and the director scoffs. “I bet they have.” 

He’s drunk enough to waddle off without anything in the way of a farewell or a thank you to the messenger, and Mark slumps against the table slightly, feeling relieved. Nonetheless, his face is hot and he wants nothing more than to melt into the veins in the marble flooring and float away for good. 

“Are you alright?” 

Mark’s head snaps up and he gasps out loud when he sees his stranger standing in front of him. There’s nothing obscuring his face this time, but Mark can see a thin cut up near his hairline and he knows it is him. It’s another matter entirely to see him in this setting, however, dressed top to toe in a slim black suit without a tie. It looks like he hadn’t touched his hair at all, maybe only run a hand through it in a lacklustre attempt to neaten it; but it was still a little knotted. He was so handsome. 

“Yeah I’m…” Mark blinks slowly, the blush on his cheeks darkening a little. “I’m fine.” 

The stranger appraises him silently, tucking a hand into the pocket of his pants with that same assuredness that had unsettled Mark the first time they were so close together. 

“What?” The student touches his own face softly, patting his cheeks. “What are you looking at?” 

“You need new glasses.” Is all he says. 

“Why?” Mark’s so confused- he’s flustered and he’s floundering for something, anything, that will keep the conversation going. “Are they cracked?”

“I noticed you across the room earlier. You didn’t notice me when you bumped into me a minute later, however. I’m not sure you can properly see through those things.” He smiles a cheeky, light sort of smile. 

“That was you? Oh god. How mortifying.” Mark mumbles, fixing his hair with jerky little movements. Is he being charming enough? It’s been a while since he’s flirted with anyone and the stranger is watching him so intensely that he doesn’t know quite where all his limbs end or what he’s doing. “Maybe I do need new glasses. I’ve bumped into you a few times recently.” 

“Hey, don’t even think about it.” He pauses once more, for an unnaturally long amount of time. “You work here, right? Shouldn’t you do something about Kang harassing you like that?” 

“It’s totally fine!” Mark blurts out, hoping not to appear weak and ditzy but fearing that the damage had already been done. “He’s never abusive, just a little too handsy. I can handle him.” 

“Of course.” 

The man tugs his hand out of his pocket and proffers it for Mark to shake, the set of his shoulders broad and apparent under the glow of the chandeliers. 

“Jaebum.” He intones warmly. Mark can smell his aftershave and it makes him weak at the knees. He can’t remember ever having felt this attracted to someone in his life. 

“I’m Mark.” Their hands clasp together firmly and Mark offers what he hopes is an alluring smile. 

It hadn’t even occurred to him up until this point what Jaebum- the man with the gun and the gushing head wound from the night before- would be doing at a gala such as this. His suit was a better make than Jinyoung’s loan-suit but it wasn’t top of the line. He wore no ring and he carried no special ticket to the VIP cocktail lounge. No camera either, so he couldn’t be a journalist. 

“Are you part of the security team?” 

Jaebum gives him a pained look and Mark notices his gaze switching out over his own shoulder to scan the room. Come to think of it, he’d done that a few times already. 

“Yes.”

Mark frowns and glances over his shoulder too. There’s nothing to see but an endless sea of people and he’s hurt that he can’t seem to hold his enigmatic companion’s attention. He feels very small and out of place. Shyly, he tugs on the ends of his blazer, smoothing some lint off the material and turning to the side just slightly so that he can reshuffle the cards for the third time. His hair falls in his eyes in soft waves. 

“Are you looking for someone?” His voice is small, making Mark regret the asking of the question as soon as it is done. He’s hung up on a damn stranger. When he glances up, anxious at the lack of response, he’s taken aback to see Jaebum just staring at him, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. The music swirls in and out around them. Mark can hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears but he manages to return the gaze, a shade too bashfully for his liking as he chews on his lower lip. 

Then, suddenly, Jaebum is frowning, lifting his fingertips to his ear and sharpening his gaze as he looks over at the huge windows facing onto the museum’s manicured front lawns. 

“Jaebum? What’s wrong?” Mark asks, alarmed at the change of expression. 

A sudden almighty cracking sound from the ceiling above them has the student frozen in his tracks; horror seizing him like a physical force as the music dies out and people begin to rush toward the exits. 

“Quickly.” 

Jaebum grabs him around the waist and rushes him in the opposite direction to where most people are headed, pushing him toward the windows he had set his sights on earlier. Mark’s heart is pounding in his ears for an entirely different reason now, but he does as he is told and stays very close to the taller man’s side. He gasps and his rushing turns to running when the ceiling above where they had just stood cracks and begins to collapse inwards, great slabs of marble and cement beginning to rain from above. 

“Hurry!” Jaebum shouts, transferring his grip to Mark’s wrist and wrenching him over toward the window. 

“Hurry where?” Mark shouts back in exasperation, throat tight and eyes watery. Everything is loud and dust rises from the rubble of the collapsed roof, yet Jaebum is urging him toward locked windows. He glances back behind him in time to see one of the support pillars of the hall falling towards them. He fumbles for Jaebum’s sleeve, trying to pull him in a different direction- but there’s no way out now. They won’t be able to outrun the collapse.

Then, the unthinkable. 

Jaebum drops to his knees on the floor, dragging Mark down with him and pulling the smaller man into his chest. 

“What are you doing?” Mark cries, fingers gripping Jaebum’s arms as he stares at him with wild eyes, bright with terrified tears. The pillar is dropping, closer and closer toward the pair with a deafening series of scrapes and booms; and Jaebum is going to take the weight of it on his back first before it crushes them both. They’re going to die.


	2. 00.2

But death never comes.

 

In fact, the next thing Mark knows he is stumbling through a thick cloud of smoke, alone, the heat of an electrical fire beating down against his back. He’s so confused, so frightened, but he keeps running, the instinct to survive taking control of his body.

 

“Mark!” He hears an anguished, familiar voice. “Mark is that you?”

 

Jinyoung looms out of the smoke and catches Mark in his arms; pulling him down what the older boy realises is the bank of the lawn outside the museum. His eyes widen and he jerks in his friend’s hold, staring back into the burning building- heart in his throat.

 

“Wa- Wait!” He calls hoarsely and a painful cough nearly chokes him. “The man…”

 

“What man, Mark? You nearly fucking died! What are you talking about?” Jinyoung has no time or patience to deal with his distracted friend as he yanks him toward the paramedic crew up ahead. “How did you get out? You were in the main hall!”

 

Mark just shakes his head in disbelief. Jaebum, the mystery man, had he gotten out? One minute they had been crouched together, a pillar falling toward them with no hope of escape, and the next Mark was running blind out in the open air; safe. What exactly had happened inside that hall?

 

Jinyoung sat him down with his back propped up against the wheel of the ambulance before rushing off to find a paramedic. People were sprawled out everywhere and sirens were blaring, but Mark couldn’t take his eyes off the burning museum. Jaebum was only a stranger, but Mark was profoundly affected by the man’s presence in the few occasions on which they had been able to meet. He couldn’t accept the fact that the man might be in danger, might even be dead. With a groan, Mark pressed his hand up against the side of the truck and tried to lug himself to his feet… But it was no use. His limbs were shaking too much and Jinyoung was running back to him with an angry look on his face.

 

“Sit still, damn it!” He cursed, dropping to his knees and helping the paramedic accompanying him to prop Mark up in a comfortable position. Jinyoung’s wiping the ash and blood off his friends face and Mark can make out tear tracks in the low light cast by the flames spewing from the museum. “I was so fucking scared, you fucking piece of…”

 

Mark’s heart softens and he lets out a small noise of assurance, swallowing roughly despite his dry throat and gripping Jinyoung’s hair gently in an attempt to ground him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You’re telling me the army knows nothing about what happened in the museum that night?” Mark says in disbelief, chopsticks frozen midair as he waits for his best friend to respond.

 

“Mark, even if I did know something you know I am not at liberty to tell you.” Mark cocks a brow. “Not that I know anything at all. I’m just reminding you.”

 

Mark draws his knees up to his chest and lets his head fall back to rest against the couch cushions. He’s sitting on the floor in his apartment, facing the window so he can watch the endless rain outside. It wasn’t raining the night the museum exploded over his head and he hasn’t seen Jaebum again, anywhere. Not that he and Jaebum move in the same circles. Not that Mark and Jaebum would ever have a reason to meet again even if the other man had survived.

 

“Pass me the wontons,” Jackson says with a mouthful of food, digging his toe into Mark’s back, “And tell me why you brushed Hoseok off so quickly.”

 

Mark passes the food without really thinking, but he ignores the second request. He doesn’t want to talk about Hoseok and his mind is whirring at a million miles an hour. He wants answers and he has a feeling Jackson is holding something back from him. Maybe if he can word things in just the right way, his friend will let something slip past his tough guard. He gets up off the floor and sits cross-legged on the couch facing the soldier, tugging the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands and thinking carefully about what he wants to ask.

 

“I met a man-“

 

“That’s why you blew off Hoseok? You already have someone? Jeez, Mark, give a guy some warning instead of making us both look like idiots. I really though you and H-“

 

“No, it’s not like that.” Mark replies with a shake of his head. “I met a man that night at the museum. I mean, actually, I’d seen him around before, once or twice.” He trails off, tucking some hair behind his ear and transferring his gaze to the wall behind Jackson’s head as he thinks of the gun and the blood once more. “But we spoke properly for the first time that night. He was tall, dark brown hair and broad shoulders with two little birthmarks over his eye. I don’t know how to describe it, but he seemed like he knew what was going to happen. He was so anxious and tense-“

 

“He couldn’t have known, Mark.” Jackson interrupts again, and the boy with the silver hair is jolted back to the present. “How could he have known? No one knew what was going to happen that night.”

 

Mark narrows his eyes.

 

“He kept scanning the room and looking out the main windows; like he was searching for something or maybe… or maybe someone.”

 

“You sound like-“

 

“Stop interrupting me! Just because you’re a part of the military doesn’t mean you get to look down on me. I have eyes and I know what I saw.”

 

Mark stares down at his threadbare couch with an intimidating scowl and Jackson lets out a breath. He sets his food aside and inches closer to his best friend, tucking the boy against his side and rubbing circles into his arm with his thumb.

 

“I’m sorry. Keep talking. You know I have trouble keeping my mouth shut.”

 

Mark cracks a smile at this, leaning against the younger man.

 

“He told me he was part of the security team the museum director had contracted for the night but it doesn’t add up, Jack.” He goes silent for a moment, his brow furrowing as he concentrates. “I went back and checked the records and there was no guard by the name of Jaebum at the museum that night. Not only that but… But there was no guest with his name either.”

 

Jackson’s grip tightens around him incrementally.

 

“So you think he planted the bomb?”

 

“No! No… I think… I think he was looking for the person that did.” Mark suggests hesitantly, staring up at his friend. “When the roof began to collapse, he helped me escape. He shielded me from a falling pillar with his body and Jack, I don’t know if he lived. I want to know if he survived so I can thank him in person. I was so sure I was going to die…”

 

“Don’t say that, Mark. You’re making me want to go all Jinyoung on you.” Jackson says, tone soft with affection. “I was watching the TV that night and I knew you were there. I sat right in front of the screen watching the news, trying to catch a glimpse of you among the other survivors. We were all so scared.”

 

Mark smiles and lets his head fall to rest on Jackson’s strong shoulder. If nothing else, the incident at the museum made him realise just how valuable his life was to others. The empty space he felt existed in his heart was filled with the love and worry his friends had expressed to him. He didn’t need a boyfriend to feel valued. Still, there was something about his saviour that he just couldn’t shake, and things wouldn’t feel right unless he was able to see Jaebum, alive and well, and talk to him at least once more.

 

But for now, it’s nice just to be in the moment with his best friend, and Mark finds himself falling asleep within the hour. He’s very light in Jackson’s arms when the soldier picks him up and carries him to his bed. Jackson likes moments like this because he doesn’t have to feel like Mark can see right through him… Like Mark can see exactly how his best friend feels about him. Jackson watches him snuggle down under the covers and he lets out a sigh.

 

“There are just some things you can’t know,” Jackson whispers as he flicks the light off and glances back once more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mark is forced to take the rest of the week off work, so he keeps himself busy catching up on assignments and course materials from university. He’d like to go to the dig site in the middle of the city but, for some reason, work there has been halted just like it has at the museum. When at last Mark is allowed to return to work, he’s bursting at the seams with energy- content even to let Jinyoung boss him around for the rest of the day.

 

Thankfully, the offices and archives were unharmed by the bomb, so Mark is able to skirt around the police and reach his desk without difficulty. He throws his satchel down and is about to go and make a pot of coffee when he catches sight of one of his sticky notes taped to his computer screen. He bends down and tugs it off with a frown.

 

6666 5439 5439  
Thank me later,  
Jacks

 

Mark’s frown only deepens.

 

“Six, six, six, six, five, four…” He mumbles to himself, trying to think of who the phone number might lead to. He couldn’t remember asking Jackson for help with finding a number. Sometimes when he was on archiving duty and couldn’t track down museum alumni he would beg his friend to use his military training to his benefit… But not this time. Maybe Jackson bought a new phone.

 

Mark steps out onto the balcony and digs his mobile out of his pocket, staring down at the construction crews bustling around far below. He dials the number and waits curiously, a cool breeze running fingers through his hair.

 

“Hello?”

 

Mark gasps, nearly dropping his phone when the familiar voice comes through the speaker.

 

“Hello? Who am I speaking with?” The voice comes again.

 

“Jaebum?” Mark breathes.

 

It’s silent for a little while, and Mark is getting that sickeningly happy feeling in his chest again. Jaebum sounds sleepy, can he remember Mark’s voice? There’s no background sound on the other end of the line either, and the young student expects Jaebum has just woken up; is lying in his bed.

 

“Mark?” Jaebum finally responds, and the breathy sleepy way he sighs the name out has Mark shivering even though he is standing out in the sun. “Are you okay? I couldn’t find you the other night… I was worried that you didn’t get out.”

 

“I’m fine.” Mark says quickly, and he wonders how many times he’s already said that to Jaebum. “You saved my life. I thought you were still stuck inside. How did you get out? How did I get out? There was no security at the event but isn’t that what you said your job was? Are you a private bodyguard-”

 

“Hey, hey,” He chuckles and Mark smiles a little, “Isn’t it a bit early for twenty one questions?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah it is. I’ve just been thinking about it a lot because I just wanted to thank you but I couldn’t even begin to figure out where to find you. I guess Jackson found you for me.” Mark pauses, gaze flickering down to the sticky note. “How do you know Jackson?”

 

The sound of sheets shifting.

 

“How about we just meet up tonight?” Jaebum’s voice has a hopeful lilt to it that softens his tone.

 

“Meet up tonight? To do what?” Mark blinks, cheeks flushed and heart pounding once more. He feels like such a little boy. “D-Drinks?”

 

“Drinks sound good to me. I’ll pick you up around nine?”

 

“Nine sounds good to m-“ He stops himself before he can copy Jaebum. “Nine sounds like it would… uh, be a good time. In the evening. For two adults to go and get some drinks.”

 

Jaebum chuckles again.

 

“Wear something warm. It’s cold out.”

 

“I will. See you.” Mark’s about to hang up when he remembers something. “Wait! Where will you-“

 

The line is dead already, so Mark texts his address to Jaebum along with a little smiley face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Is it a bad sign that he wants to meet so late, mama?”

 

“Oh yes, yes definitely. Whenever your father wanted to meet me late at night, I always drank far too much and made a fool of myself. He loved it, of course.”

 

Mark smiles, biting his lip. He’s so nervous for tonight that he found himself ringing his mother the minute he got home from work. They’ve been talking for almost an hour now, but Mark is still scared. All he knows is that they’re meeting for drinks and Jaebum is picking him up. What he doesn’t know is what this meeting actually is. Is it a date?

 

“Don’t let that boy take advantage of you, baby.” His mother coos through the line and Mark can hear his father scoff in the background. “You’re soft and lovely and fun to talk to. He’s going to fall in love with you and you can’t let him just sweep you off your feet so easily, hm?”

 

“He seems kind of old fashioned, mama,” Mark laughs, “I doubt things will move too quickly with him. That and he’s a bit secretive.” He plays with a loose threat from the cushion on his lap. “I don’t even know if this is a date yet.”

 

“Mark. That boy saved your life at the museum that night. If he really was private security, shouldn’t he have left you to find the person or people he was supposed to be protecting?” He can practically hear his mother shaking her head and it throws him right back to his boyhood. His mama was always the one to remind him that he was beautiful, he was interesting and he was worthy of love. “It’s a date, trust me.”

 

“I hope so, mama.” He whispers.

 

“Go and get ready. Ring me in the morning and tell me what happened. Tell- Wait a moment, your father is trying to say something.” His mother laughs. “Baba says to text him if he needs to fly over there and beat the punk up.”

 

“Not a girl, baba.” Mark laughs too, but he appreciates the sentiment- he really does. “I love you both. I’ll tell you how it goes.”

 

 

 

 

 

To his credit, Jaebum is there at exactly nine pm, leaning against his motorbike and breathing on his hands to warm them. Mark toes his shoes on and wraps himself in a coat before skipping down the stairs. Jaebum’s eyes sparkle and he smiles almost to himself as he scans Mark from head to toe. Despite them still being in Mark’s neighbourhood- close to Mark’s home- Mark is the one that feels awfully out of depth. He feels like he is in Jaebum’s territory and that Jaebum is the one in charge.

 

“You look beautiful.” Jaebum compliments earnestly.

 

And Mark doesn’t really know what to do with that. He’s received compliments before, but they’re usually lecherous or dirty sounding. Jaebum has a way of speaking that is so self-assured and sure that no room is left for questions or doubt. There are connotations for the word beautiful that are interpreted as non-masculine, but Mark knows- somehow, he knows- that Jaebum is just saying what he thinks without attaching any meaning to it.

 

“Not used to the word?” Jaebum asks softly, drawing Mark’s gaze from the pavement back up to him. The shorter of the pair flushes a soft pink and realises how guarded he must look.

 

“No, not particularly.”

 

Jaebum doesn’t push it. He just gives a knowing smile and hands Mark his helmet, slinging his leg over the bike and waiting for the boy to join him. Once they’re both sitting down, Jaebum reaches back for Mark’s hands and pulls his arms around his chest.

 

~

 

They go to a place that does chicken and beer, and Jaebum walks Mark through the maze of people to a low table table in the very back corner that is surrounded by cushions. Mark takes off his shoes and sits down cross-legged, transfixed by the way Jaebum speaks to the waitress when he orders them something to eat and drink. He looks handsome tonight, but there’s still something distinctly old about the clothes he’s wearing. Plus, Mark had gotten used to his small scars and mottled bruises, but his face is clear and clean tonight.

 

“You seek out the corner don’t you?” Mark comments, opening his can of beer and taking a long drink in the hopes of drowning the butterflies in his stomach. “You’re always positioning yourself with your back against a wall.”

 

“I like to keep an eye on everything that’s happening in the room.” Jaebum murmurs, opening his own can and taking a considerably smaller sip than Mark had. “It’s one element of my job that I can’t seem to shake.”

 

“And what is your job?”

 

“I’m a soldier,” He replies quickly, setting his hands down flat on the table and staring at Mark intently.

 

“Is that how you know Jackson?”

 

“I don’t know Jackson well, but it’s a small base. We pass each other often and I’ve gotten to know his face quite well. He’s popular with the others.”

 

Mark smiles and looks down at the can in his hands. He traces patterns in the condensation with his finger. There’s so much he wants to ask, and to say, but he’s afraid he will come across as a busy body. Is it really any of his business what Jaebum does for a living? Why he does what he does? Is it fair that Mark wants to know so much? He’s never cared so much about his image in front of anybody before. In general, the archaeology student had never cared much for appearance or others’ opinions and it came as a rude shock when Mark caught himself staring at his reflection in the window, fixing his hair.

 

“Mark, is something bothering you?” Jaebum asks, still staring, his head resting on the knuckles of his hand. “You don’t have to censor yourself. If I can’t answer something, I’ll just tell you. I asked you to meet tonight because I want to try to clear things up for you as best I can. Over the last few weeks I’ve unfortunately exposed you to some sensitive military information, so it’s only right that I debrief you.”

 

“O-Oh.” Mark stutters, swallowing hard and squeezing the can in his hand a little. Suddenly the room seems a lot smaller and a lot quieter despite the shouting and laughter of the other people gathered there. He’s so embarrassed. He’s being debriefed right now? “Yes. Yes that’s what I wanted, too. S-So, why did the army have personnel stationed at the museum?”

 

“We received intel that the mayor and his VIP guests would be targeted at the event, but we had no idea of the scale of the attack. Of course, if we had, we would have cancelled the event so that nobody could get hurt.”

 

It’s so clinical. Such an obvious, logical explanation yet… Yet something in Mark tells him not to believe it. He’s always had a good sense of intuition, and he knows that the feeling he gets when he looks at Jaebum- the feeling of witnessing something bigger than himself- stops him from blindly going along with what he is being told. Not that it matters, because Jaebum’s life is of no significance to Mark. He’s being debriefed. It’s not a date. For every sentence Jaebum begins, Mark swallows another mouthful of beer, and he hopes it will numb him before he does something he’ll regret; something like succumbing to the humiliated tears he feels clawing at the back of his throat.

 

“Ah.” Is all he manages in response, and his eyes are already unfocused. Jaebum looks a little concerned, but he doesn’t say anything. “Why did you tell me I was beautiful?”

 

The change of pace doesn’t even seem to faze Jaebum.

 

“Because it’s the truth. A fact. Did it make you uncomfortable?”

 

“Please… Just don’t say anything like that again.” Mark asks, feeling like a petulant child, but he can’t seem to get a grip on his emotions. It’s been a long time since he last fell in love, but this feeling seems awfully close to that feeling of falling. It’s not, though. It’s not love because Mark knows nothing about Jaebum and this is not a date. He’s just bruised.

 

“I won’t.”

 

~

 

Hours pass and the indignant pain fades into a drunken, giggly acceptance. Mark still feels dreadfully sorry for himself, but he’s getting the hang of it. For a while, they spoke emptily about the museum reconstruction and all the paperwork Jaebum had to fill out once he returned to base after the explosion. Then the conversation becomes more inane. Mark talks about school and about Jackson, a lot, because he hasn’t got anything else to say but he wants to talk and he wants to be listened to. If he stopped for a few minutes to be observant, Mark would have noticed that Jaebum hadn’t touched his beer after the first sip, but its easier to pretend he is just as buzzed as Mark is.

 

“I got so drunk that night that I jumped off the bridge into the river!” Mark exclaims, hair falling in his eyes and glasses discarded on the table by his elbow. “Jackson swam after me and dragged me all the way back to shore. We all knew he would do something great with his life… He’s a really swee- really such a sweet and strong guy, right?”

 

He’s half slumped across the table, cradling the nth can of beer against his hot cheek while he recites his story to Jaebum. Twenty minutes ago, he had unbuttoned the top few buttons of his silk shirt and it kept slipping from his shoulders. Jaebum had tried to help him re-button it, but Mark just shied away and kept talking. He was feeling reckless despite the fact that he knew he had a tendency to be dramatic. Whenever he woke up after nights like these with men who didn’t like him enough, he always felt so ashamed- but that doesn’t make it easy to stop.

 

“Your boyfriend loves you a lot.” Jaebum comments idly, but there’s a fire in his eyes that Mark is too drunk to notice.

 

“Who?” Mark asks. “Who… Oh, Jackson? He’s not my boyfriend. No~ No. No.” He shakes his head and stretches at the same time, listening to his joints click. “We’ve never been together.”

 

At this, Jaebum’s eyes widen fractionally.

 

“He carries a picture of you in his jacket pocket.”

 

“And I thought you weren’t that close to him,” Mark accuses with hazy eyes, pointing his finger at the soldier. “How would you know whose picture he c… carries in his jacket pocket?”

 

~

 

Jaebum speeds the entire way back to Mark’s place, and Mark keeps the visor on his helmet up in the hopes of letting the cool wind sober him up a little. It works. When he stumbles off the bike, his cheeks are slick with tears from the air lashing his face and he feels very unsteady.

 

“You really are in a rush to get rid of me, huh? It’s just been a long time since I went on a date, you know?” He mutters, putting the helmet on the back of the bike and staggering back a few steps toward the gutter. “So I thought it would be nice to… to go on a date with a man like you, but we didn’t. We just went on a… debriefing, right? So, um, thanks for the debriefing.”

 

The soldier’s eyes are deep and expressive and he looks torn. Mark doesn’t like that expression on him so he looks away, playing with the deep pockets on his coat.

 

“Bye, Cap.” The boy with the fogged-up glasses clicks his heels and raises his hand in a mock salute, miraculously making it onto the sidewalk without tripping over his own untied laces.

 

Mark takes the steps one by one, and soon enough he has one hand pushing his front door open while the other he is already cradling his phone, Jackson on speed dial. He always runs back to Jackson. Always…

 

Always, unless Jaebum is tossing his phone onto the couch and pressing him into the door as it clicks shut behind them.

 

“Don’t call him. If he really isn’t your boyfriend, don’t call him.” Jaebum breathes. Even though he’s crowded Mark up against the wall like this, there’s nothing aggressive in the gesture; nothing harsh. Jaebum stares at him like he’s just asked for something completely impossible. The look in his eyes is similar to the one Mark saw when the pillar was about to crash down over them, the same assurance. Their faces are so close together. “Can I kiss you?”

 

Mark stares at Jaebum in bewilderment, his hands propped up on the soldier’s chest uselessly. He nods and slides his hands up into Jaebum’s hair, but it’s him who initiates the kiss anyway- unable to wait. He’s never moved this fast before, but it feels so nice when Jaebum tilts his head just so that his tongue skates over Mark’s lower lip. Up this close, the young student can feel how unusually hard his partner’s body is. It’s almost as though he’s made entirely of muscle… It doesn’t feel real. Jaebum angles away from Mark’s lips, tracing hot kisses out along the bend of his jaw and down along his neck, exposed by the shirt that is still slipping off Mark’s right shoulder.

 

Something lights up, bright blue, in Jaebum’s coat pocket and, on the couch, Jackson’s voice can be heard- strained and desperate- through the speaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jackson TTuTT and his cute lil pocket pic of Mark... 
> 
> This chapter has a lot of important information so read slowly! If you're good at working out plots, you have a chance at figuring out lots of different things in this chap. Just read carefully~ 
> 
> Your comments give me life! Thank you for supporting me! And the fanart is coming soon :3 I received the sketches this week and they are beautiful ;;

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Please let me know your thoughts in the comments below!!! I'm having so much fun plotting and writing the story ^D^/ The romance will be a slow burn- that's for sure. I don't want to rush into it, so if you're looking for quick gratification you might have to look elsewhere. ^^; 
> 
> Love and warm Jaebum cuddles,   
> chippawabrike


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